


lights out

by GoldenTruth813



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Best Friends, Boys Kissing, Caretaking, Character Study, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Insecurity, M/M, POV Keith (Voltron), Pre-Kerberos Mission, blink and you'll miss it mentions of past Shiro/Adam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:16:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27643328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenTruth813/pseuds/GoldenTruth813
Summary: After yet another fight, Keith retreats to his Garrison room, nursing wounded knuckles and his own self doubt. When a knock at his door comes, the last person he expects is Shiro, late night meal in hand. He's used to Shiro's misguided faith in him, but there's more than kindness in Shiro's words, and this time Keith dares to share his feelings (and his fries).
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 60
Kudos: 252





	lights out

**Author's Note:**

> I chose not to use archive warnings for this fic. It is pre-kerberos but it's very vague about what Keith's age is here when the relationship begins. If that's something that might bother you then take care of yourself. <3
> 
> Also wow hey look at me I wrote something under 5K.
> 
> All my uwu to starlitruns for a quick beta and endless support.

When the knock comes, Keith doesn’t bother getting out of his bunk to see who it is. No one else has ever knocked on his door. Not by choice, anyway.

A quick glance at the clock confirms his suspicions—11:11 pm. Way past lights out. No one else would be brazen enough to wander the halls this late. No one else could get away with it the way Shiro could, too. 

Decision made, he crosses his arms and continues to stare at the ceiling. There’s nothing else to do here. If he had a roommate, he might have someone to talk to, but in the last nine months he’s worked his way through enough of those that they finally caved and gave him his own room. Not that they want Keith to know that. They’d reassigned his sleeping quarters three weeks ago under the guise of overcrowding issues and the promise of a new roommate soon, but despite what everyone else seems to think, Keith isn’t stupid. He’s not getting a roommate because no one wants to share a dorm with the loner, hothead cadet. 

The knock sounds again and Keith sighs, counting the cracks in the ceiling. There are exactly seven of them. The same as the day before. And the day before that. 

Nothing ever fucking changes at the Garrison. 

Another knock, louder this time. If Keith had to guess, Shiro’s patience is wearing thin. Maybe he will leave soon and then Keith won’t have to face being seen as the hot mess he knows he is.

“Open the door, Keith.”

No luck on him leaving, then, and giving Keith another twelve hours to try and scrounge up a little dignity and a good cover story. 

Were it anyone else, Keith would just tell them to fuck off, but Keith’s never had the heart to say the word—not to _him_. There’s too big of a chance he might just do it and leave Keith as alone as everyone else has. 

“Keith is busy.”

Even through the closed door, his snort is audible. “Bull-fucking-shit, Kogane. Open the door.”

Keith sucks in a breath, pulling his cheeks between his teeth. He’s been in this damn room alone for hours. The prospect of company, especially his, makes Keith’s chest ache with an uncomfortable level of desire. 

“I brought food,” he adds when Keith doesn’t answer right away. 

Keith groans. Everyone thinks Shiro is an angel but Keith knows the truth—he’s a sneaky shit. 

Even though Shiro is the only person on the planet who Keith always wants to see, it still takes a considerable amount of bravery for him to haul his ass off the top bunk, hop over the edge, and reach for the doorknob. For all he wants to see Shiro, he’s scared too.

Scared that this might be the moment his inability to stay out of trouble is finally too much to handle.

“And milkshakes,” Shiro adds, overriding Keith’s hesitation. There’s an exaggerated drinking sound before Shiro loudly says, “God, I love strawberry shakes.”

If Keith didn’t like him so much, he’d kick him. Strawberry is _Keith’s_ favorite. Shiro drinks vanilla milkshakes. Before him, Keith hadn’t believed there were people who would willingly pick vanilla over strawberry—or even chocolate—but then again, before Shiro he hadn’t believed in a lot. 

“Hey, Keith,” Shiro says when the door opens. He’s leaning against the doorframe, the top few buttons of his uniform undone and the sleeves rolled up the elbows. The sight of Shiro’s medical bracelet glinting under the shitty hallway light outside his room makes Keith’s chest do funny things. Not because Shiro is sick. Shiro is still Shiro—still the best goddamn pilot at Garrison—regardless of what his medical files say. It’s that his bracelet is showing at all. Keith’s not unaware to the way Shiro conceals it with other people. 

Keith’s not other people. 

Not to Shiro, anyhow. 

“Heard you missed dinner,” Shiro says, holding out a white paper bag towards Keith. 

Grease stains seep through the paper and as Keith closes his fingers around the bag—bruised up knuckles on full display—he realizes how heavy it is. What’s inside isn’t a light snack, it’s a feast, and Keith’s stomach gives away how fucking hungry he really is with an embarassingly loud growl.

He doesn’t deserve it. He didn’t even deserve dinner in the mess hall, which is why he’d skipped out on meal time, so he sure as hell doesn’t deserve what artery-clogging, glorious meal Shiro’s brought him.

“I was just teasing before, I didn’t drink it,” Shiro says, holding the milkshake out to Keith.

It’s in an unassuming red and white striped cup, but Keith knows where it’s from. There’s only one place in town that makes food this good and it’s off limits for all cadets without off base privileges. Shiro’s not a cadet, though.

“How did you get it?” Keith asks, snatching the shake and shoving the straw into his mouth. It’s a little melted from the drive but as soon as the rich, sweet milkshake hits his tongue, Keith’s tastebuds nearly weep.

Keith can count on one hand the number of strawberry milkshakes he’s had since his dad died and all three of them have been with Shiro.

He closes his eyes and for a moment he’s six years old again and holding his dad’s hand, his new sneakers squawking on the pavement and the summer sun beating down on his face as his dad squeezes his hand.

He takes a drink and he’s nine, the social worker who found him hiding behind the dumpster taking pity on him and buying him a strawberry milkshake and a cheeseburger.

He swallows the milkshake and he’s sixteen, the most beautiful boy he’s ever seen offering him a milkshake and a place at the Garrison.

“Good?” Shiro asks. “I was afraid it might melt on the way.”

“It’s good,” Keith mumbles around the straw, hating how close to tears he feels over a goddamn fucking milkshake. 

“Does that mean I’m allowed inside, then?” Shiro asks, eyebrow raised as he crosses his arms over his chest.

Keith nods, backing up to make room for Shiro, who enters like he belongs, because he does. Shiro belongs everywhere he goes. 

Shiro’s eyes roam over the room, landing on the duffel bag in the corner that Keith’s been living out of the last few weeks. Beside it, the dresser sits empty. The only things out are Keith’s notebook on the side table and a pack of gum. 

“You still haven’t unpacked,” Shiro says, no judgement in his tone. 

“I’ve been busy,” Keith mumbles, cheeks heating at the lie. He hates lying to Shiro but he’s not sure he can handle the pained look that would pass across the other boy’s face if he said the truth— _I’m too scared to let anything feel permanent._

Everyone at the Garrison, Keith included, knows it’s only a matter of time before he gets kicked out. The only person who doesn’t seem to know as much is Shiro. 

Incidentally he’s the only reason Keith hasn’t been kicked out yet, too. 

“I’m sure. They love to keep cadets busy. I could come by another time, you know, when it’s not almost midnight. Help you unpack if you want.”

Keith’s only got the one bag. They both know he doesn’t need help.

“You’re busy, it’s fine,” Keith shrugs. It’s not that he doesn’t want Shiro to come by. Keith always wants to see him. But Shiro works too hard and Keith already takes so much of his time. 

“I’m never too busy for you, Keith.”

Shiro speaks the words so simply, so straightforward. There’s nothing but earnestness on his face as he smiles at Keith, leaning back against the desk Keith never uses. He’s so pretty sometimes it actually hurts to look at him with his flawless face and his flawless body and his flawless smile. He’s too perfect to be real.

His biggest, most glaring flaw is his faith in Keith.

“How’d you get the food, anyway? Didn’t think even a junior officer was supposed to be off base this late.”

“Ah yeah, about that.” Shiro laughs, ducking his head with an uncharacteristically abashed smile. “The Garrison pharmacy had a problem with my prescription so I was authorized to head off base to fill it at a different pharmacy. Technically the one across the street had it in stock but you know—” he trails off with a shrug. “There’s a pharmacy next to Flo’s cafe across town, too. You like the milkshakes so much.”

He suspected something like this, that maybe the food was on purpose. Still, it’s one thing to pretend he was someone’s first thought and another to hear it. Something about the confession robs the air from Keith’s lungs. He’s not used to this, to being important to someone. Especially not someone like Shiro.

Keith loves something, all right, but it’s not just the milkshake.

“You didn’t have to go to so much trouble just for me,” Keith says, squeezing the milkshake so hard the lid pops off. 

“Nothing I do for you is trouble. Besides, I’m not totally selfless. I was sort of hoping you might share some of those french fries with me.”

“Oh, wow, I don’t know, Shiro. That’s a pretty bold assumption on your part. I only share fries with people I really like.”

“Oh yeah,” Shiro laughs, hip checking Keith on the way to the unmade bottom bunk. “So do I make the cut?”

“I dunno, it’s such a long fucking list.” Keith snorts.

“I bet there are plenty of people you like,” Shiro says, scooting backward until his back hits the wall and his long legs are dangling off the edge of the mattress.

“I like you,” Keith says, which is both the truth and an omission of the full truth. The truth is, Keith doesn’t like most people and most people don’t like him. Shiro, though, Shiro makes Keith remember what it’s like to see the best in someone.

Even more terrifying, he keeps showing Keith glimpses of what it’s like for someone to see the best in _him_.

“This bag is heavy. You splurged for the jumbo order of fries.”

“Maybe,” Shiro grins, knocking his knee against Keith’s as Keith scoots up to sit side by side. He passes the shake to Shiro, who doesn’t hesitate to take a sip. Before Shiro, Keith had never shared food with anyone. Partly because as a foster kid there was rarely enough food to have extra and partly because his nickname in middle school had been Cootie Kogane, after one of the eighth grade assholes spread a rumor that Keith had orphan germs and no one would sit next to him for a year.

He’d only been friends with Shiro for two weeks before Shiro started sneaking extra food onto Keith’s plate in the mess hall, or swapping Keith his portion of meat for Keith’s carbs. It took Keith a long time to realize it isn’t a Shiro thing, that he doesn’t do this with other people—it’s a Shiro and Keith thing.

Well, Keith thinks briefly, maybe he used to do with Adam, but Adam is a thing of the past. The asshole idiot let Shiro go and Shiro doesn’t want to talk about him, so Keith sure as fuck won’t waste a single breath doing it either.

Besides, it makes Keith feel a whole lot better to think about it as _their thing_.

There’s nothing tentative or gentle about the way Keith finally rips into the bag, his eyes bugging out of his head at the sight inside. It’s not just fries; it’s a massive split order of onions rings and fries and the world’s cheesiest, greasiest double patty melt without onions.

“You remembered,” Keith says, jaw wobbling and stomach growling. The burger is so thick he can barely pull it out of the bag with one hand. Pain lances through his sore knuckles on his right hand as he grips the burger, but the ache is worth the prospect of getting it near his mouth.

“I don’t know how someone so small can eat so much.”

“I’m not small,” Keith disagrees, flipping him off with his free hand before taking a massive bite of the burger. 

“Whatever you say.” Shiro laughs, leaning his shoulder against Keith’s as he sneaks his hand into the bag and pulls out a giant onion ring. 

He eats it shamelessly, little bits of batter falling onto his uniform as he groans in pleasure. When he opens his eyes it's to find Keith watching him, a little bit of pink rising on his cheeks. “What? I like fried food.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Keith grins, hiding his smile by taking a huge bite. The bread is a little soft from steaming itself inside the paper bag and the cheese is a little cold now, but it’s easily the best thing Keith’s ever eaten. 

“I got it medium rare. I know you hate the way the Garrison overcooks all their meat.”

He wrinkles his nose, shaking the burger at Shiro. “Calling the protein sources here ‘meat’ is a bit generous, don’t you think? I’m still not convinced they’re not secretly feeding us, like, meat-flavored mushroom patties. It’s why they keep covering everything in gravy.”

“Well, you certainly eat it fast enough.”

Keith hunches his shoulders. “I get hungry.”

“Oh, hey. I was just teasing. You know if you never get enough to eat you can just tell me, right? I can pull a few strings. Bruno, the line cook, loves me. Miss Jo, who handles desserts, really likes me, too. That’s how I always get an extra brownie on Fridays. I’m sure if I talked to them I could get them to give you extra, even when I’m in class and can’t meet you for meals.”

Everyone likes Shiro. It’s as universal a truth as the fact that Earth orbits the Sun, or that ninety- nine percent of the solar system is actually composed of the sun’s mass.

As far as Keith’s concerned, his world orbits Shiro’s. He’s just still not always sure _why_.

“I’m fine,” is what Keith eventually says, because he doesn’t mind extra food from Shiro but his pride won’t let him take it from anyone else.

Shiro sighs and Keith has the heart-dropping feeling he’s disappointed him.

“Why are you so fucking stubborn?” Shiro groans, running a hand through his hair. 

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Keith shoots back, shoving another bite of burger into his mouth. Shiro’s easily the most stubborn person Keith’s ever met as evidenced by the fact that he still refuses to let Keith push him away.

“Yeah, okay, that’s fair,” Shiro laughs. “It’s just...I want to help you. I want you to be happy at the Garrison.”

“Why?” Keith asks, barely chewing before he swallows. “Because you put your reputation on the line for me and I’m ruining it?”

It’s not a fair thing to say, but Keith’s not always nice. That’s Shiro.

“God damn, Keith. You sure don’t make this easy.”

Keith hunches his shoulders, pulling his knees up to his chest. “Yeah, yeah. I know, I’m _difficult_.”

“Damn fucking right you are,” Shiro agrees, making Keith’s stomach flip flop. He doesn’t know why he does shit like that. It’s like he can hear the words in his mind seconds before they come out, but he can’t stop himself. 

“You’re also funny, and smart, and talented,” Shiro adds.

The compliments make Keith’s face feel like it’s burning and he ends up taking such a big bite of his burger he nearly chokes, unable to look at Shiro as he chews.

“It’s true,” Shiro insists. “Seriously, Keith. Fuck my reputation. I want you to be happy here because I care about you. I know some things here suck, like the mystery meat, and some of the asshole cadets, and yeah, sometimes the chain of command is kind of a pain in the ass, but you have a chance here, Keith. You could be a better pilot than me if you stopped doing everything in your power to act like you don’t care. I know you care.”

Shiro’s words hit uncomfortably close to home, but Keith’s mouth is too full to respond, so he settles for a shrug that can’t come close to touching the mess of feelings Keith has about his place at the Garrison, and with Shiro.

If there’s more that Shiro wants to say he holds back, giving Keith a moment to process the words as he grabs a few fries. Then, to Keith’s absolute horror, he pops the milkshake lid off and dips his fries directly into the strawberry milkshake, lifting them quickly to his mouth and licking the residual milkshake and salt from his fingers as he hums with pleasure.

“That’s so fucking gross,” Keith says as soon as he’s swallowed.

“You absolutely cannot say that until you’ve tried it,” Shiro tells him, grabbing two more fries out of the bag and making a show of dipping them down into what was a perfectly good milkshake and is now an abomination.

“I can too,” Keith says. 

“Come on, try it. For me,” Shiro says, lifting the cup up to catch the bit of milkshake that drips off the french fries as he holds them out towards Keith’s mouth. 

It should be easy to say no. Keith would say no to anyone else. But Shiro’s got his stupid pretty eyes fixed on Keith, his bottom lip turned out just a little bit. He looks like a puppy, all eager and hopeful, and Keith doesn’t have the heart to deny him anything.

There’s not a damn thing in the world Keith wouldn’t do for Shiro, including apparently this. 

“I hate you so fucking much right now,” Keith grumbles, opening his mouth.

Exactly as expected, it’s absolutely fucking disgusting. Salty french fries do not mix with strawberry milkshake. Shiro clearly has questionable taste. Then again, Keith’s known that since the day he stole Shiro’s car and instead of sending him to juvie, Shiro offered him a place at the Garrison.

 _”I’ll never give up on you,_ he’d promised. Until this very moment, Keith’s not sure he truly believed him. 

He thinks that maybe he believes him now.

“So?” Shiro asks, still looking hopeful.

“Absolutely fucking revolting,” Keith declares, grabbing the rest of the milkshake from Shiro, popping the lid back on and maintaining eye contact as he slurps up the rest before Shiro can ruin it with french fry contamination. 

Rather than being disappointed or offended, Shiro just barks out a laugh as he loops an arm around Keith’s shoulder. Keith pretends to grumble, but inside his heart is in his throat at the contact, hyper aware of the way Shiro’s arm feels resting across his shoulders. When Shiro moves his fingers to Keith’s hair and ruffles it, he’s sure part of his soul leaves his body.

Keith’s used to being on the receiving end of touch, but not like this. He’s used to being shouldered into a wall by another cadet when the instructors aren’t looking. He’s used to the sharp pain that comes with a fist connecting with his face. He’s used to the way the others try to take cheap shots when they’re sparring so they won’t face punishment for the things they want to do to Keith.

He’s used to equating touch with pain or retribution.

It’s not like that with Shiro. Everything with Shiro is different.

“So, you wanna tell me anything about today?” Shiro asks, still playing with Keith’s hair.

Keith shakes his head, staring at his bruised hand as he slurps at the mostly empty milkshake cup until there’s not a single drop left. When he’s sucked it dry, he throws the cup across the room, pleased when it lands directly into the little trash can.

Shiro whistles. “Nice shot.” 

“Thanks,” Keith mumbles, grabbing an onion ring and nibbling it at it as he leans back into Shiro’s embrace. Shiro’s always been generous with his praise and affection, but lately it feels laced with something more. Keith’s just not sure what.

“I ran into Griffin earlier. He didn’t seem to want to tell me anything either.”

Keith tenses, shoving the onion ring into his mouth. If he’s chewing, he can’t talk. 

“Funny thing though, I’m good at getting people to tell me things. I simply had to remind Griffin that as his commanding officer, a direct lie was in violation of the officers’ code. He was really eager to talk after that.”

“Griffin’s a fucking dickhead,” Keith grumbles.

“As a junior officer, agreeing with that statement would be wrong. As your best friend, I’m inclined to agree.”

Warmth floods Keith’s entire body, his face on fire. _Best friend._

He’d known Shiro was _his_ , not just because he’s Keith’s only friend, but because Shiro is something special. In a universe made of the mundane, Shiro is something made of magic. 

“I didn’t know I was your best friend,” Keith whispers.

“You didn’t?” Shiro asks, surprise coloring his tone. 

Keith shakes his head. “No.”

“Oh, well, you are,” Shiro tells him, tightening the hold he has on him into less of a casual embrace and something more like a hug. 

“You’re mine too,” Keith says. “Just.. just so you know.”

“Good, I’m glad. Should I get us friendship bracelets, then, to make it official?” Shiro deadpans.

“Fuck you,” Keith laughs, turning his face towards Shiro. This close Keith can smell the scent of Shiro’s cologne and hear the steady _thump thump_ of his heart.

“I’m just saying, could be cute. We could get matching ones. I’ve already got one. At least... at least this one would be by choice.”

“I don't need a bracelet to make it official, asshole.”

Shiro laughs again, his hand slipping from Keith’s hair to dangle down around his shoulder. With his other hand he reaches for Keith’s, lifting up the bruised one and holding it up for inspection.

“Griffin seems to think you tried to kill him.”

“I did fucking not,” Keith grumbles, “I didn’t even start the fucking fight. He did.”

“I believe you,” Shiro says, tenderly turning Keith’s hand over in his. Somehow it hurts more under Shiro’s gaze. Pain’s easier to ignore when it feels invisible. 

“Just like that? Why?” Keith asks. “No one else trusts me.”

“Well, as we’ve established, I’m not everyone else. I trust you and if you tell me something, then I’m going to believe you, regardless of what anyone else says. Besides, I’ve seen the way you throw a punch, Keith. If you were trying to kill Griffin, he would’ve been in the hospital wing, not skulking around the cafeteria trying to sneak an ice pack for his bruised shoulder.”

Keith makes an indiscernible sound, wincing when Shiro skims the tips of his fingers over the tops of Keith’s knuckles. A bit of dried blood flakes off. 

“Why didn’t you go to the infirmary?”

“You know why,” Keith mumbles. 

“Yeah,” Shiro agrees. “For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you.”

“What the fuck for?” 

A small laugh rumbles out of Shiro’s chest, reverberating against Keith’s side. “Because I know you took it easy on him. You showed self control even if he didn’t deserve it. Though I am curious how your knuckles got so beat up if it wasn’t because of Griffin.”

“I tripped, fell into a wall,” Keith says, without a shred of guilt. It is, after all, only a slight twisting of the truth, which is that Keith slammed his fist into a brick wall and pretended it was Griffin’s face after ending the fight before it got to the point of no return. 

“You’re a good guy, Keith.” 

“Pretty sure that’s you,” Keith objects, holding his breath when Shiro lifts Keith’s knuckles higher, bringing them dangerously close to his mouth. So close Keith can feel the warmth of Shiro’s breath, feel the drag of his bottom lip against the cuts.

“You think I’m so perfect, but I’m not,” Shiro says softly. 

“I don’t think you’re perfect. I think you’re a stubborn smartass with questionable taste in food.”

Shiro laughs, the hold on Keith’s fingers tightening. “I’m selfish, too.”

“No, you’re not,” Keith whispers.

“I want to be,” Shiro says, pressing a kiss on the top of Keith’s bloodied knuckle, “ _with you._.”

Keith forgets how to fucking breathe as everything in the entire universe narrows down to this moment. 

“ _Shiro_.”

“If you tell me to stop, I will.” Shiro drops another kiss to the back of his hand.

“I’m not going to fucking tell you to stop,” Keith almost sobs. “I’m not going to tell you ‘no’ ever.”

This time it’s Shiro who inhales sharply, his right hand trembling and the metal of his medical bracelet glinting against the delicate underside of his wrist. He doesn’t look like the perfect poster golden boy right now. He looks like Shiro, like _Keith’s_ Shiro—a little rough around the edges, a little vulnerable, and beautiful.

He’s staring at Keith with those big eyes of his, as if he can’t believe Keith’s words. He’s looking at Keith like Keith is the center of the universe, and it makes Keith’s throat feel small.

All this time he’d been waiting for Shiro to leave him. It never occurred to him that maybe Shiro was just as scared of being abandoned.

“You know you’re stuck with me, right?” Keith whispers, rising up onto his knees.

Shiro’s eyes go wide as Keith straddles his lap, reaching out to toy with Shiro’s open collar, the fingers of his free hand skimming over the hollow of Shiro’s throat and up the side of his neck. Most of the time Keith’s bravery is reckless, this is something different—revolutionary. 

“You’re stuck with me, too,” Shiro whispers, tilting his head up towards Keith with no small amount of reverence.

It hurts to have someone look at him the way Shiro does. It hurts so fucking good.

“Shiro.”

“Yeah, Keith?”

“Are you going to kiss me, Shiro?”

“Yes,” Shiro whispers as he rests Keith’s hand over his chest before bringing his hands up to Keith’s face. 

They’re so big and warm and Keith doesn’t cry but when Shiro pulls his face down, he wants to. Shiro’s lips are so damn soft and he’s such a good fucking kisser, of course he fucking is. It’s not the world’s most perfect first kiss—his knuckle still fucking hurts and one of the mattress springs is digging into his left knee—but it’s real. 

_They’re_ real. 

Objectively Keith’s probably not a very good kisser but Shiro doesn’t complain, his thumbs smoothing over Keith’s cheeks as he deepens the kiss. Shiro’s tongue is sweet as a strawberry milkshake, his steady hand sliding back around to cradle the back of Keith’s neck. When he pulls out of the kiss, Keith’s chest is heaving and he feels wild-eyed and overcome. 

“Beautiful,” Shiro murmurs, toying with the hair at the back of Keith’s neck. 

“Shut up, Shiro,” Keith huffs, cheeks heating. 

“You really want me to?” And that’s the thing Keith knows—he’d stop if Keith wants him too. He always puts Keith first. Time and again he’s shown he’s more than talk, that Keith is a priority. 

“No,” Keith mumbles, embarrassed at the confession. 

“Pretty baby,” Shiro murmurs again and Keith’s entire body flushes. 

He doesn’t really want him to stop, but he’s also not sure what he’s gonna do if Shiro says that again, so he surges forward, pleased at the surprised squeaking Shiro emits when he kisses him. 

It’s a long time before Shiro finally sneaks out, his shirt even more disheveled and his ridiculous floof sticking up on one side. When he’s gone, it occurs to Keith that all this time he’s been looking for a place to belong when he should have been looking for a person.

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream about Shieth with me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/goldentruth813)


End file.
